jesus wouldn't try to get away with pants

Here are two pitiful amuse-bouches for today's post - a couple of t-shirts that I enjoy:




I particularly like the first one. Jesus is so adorably game. Look at you go, buddy!

NOW....

Hey! Are you in Seattle? Then you should buy a ticket and come to a benefit for the theater company I'm a part of, which be Printer's Devil Theatre. It will be grand! A hot, hot party. It's a

RED DRESS PARTY!


Click on the links up there and find out more, but I'll tell you this - it's on February 10th at the McCleod residence in Belltown. Doors open at 9:30. You have to wear a red dress. You cannot fudge it, culottes-style. You can't wear it over pants. Be you man or woman, you must be wearing a red dress.

I'm putting together the music. Tell me the song that you love that makes you knock over your grandmother on the way to the dance floor and leave her there squirming while you shake your callous ham. Seriously, tell me. I want to know. Especially if you're coming. But even if you're not, tell me.








Note to the small boy: I hope that's a belted t-shirt dress otherwise your sister's getting in and you're not. I see khakis. I think you might be screwed.

buried in sand is the natural habitat of my head

If ostriches weren't gigantic freaky phobia-rattling birds we would be likethis. I would call up the ostrich and be like, what are you doing right now? And the ostrich would be like, I'm hiding. And I'd be like, me too. We should hang out. We should start a club. It has to be at my place, though, because I can't come to your place because my head has to stay here.



I just finished reading Laurie David's book Stop Global Warming: The Solution is You. I don't know how I got my head out of the sand long enough to read it but I'm glad I did. It's wee, a wee tiny read, but it's incredibly vivid and engaging and galvanizing.

I'm not an activist. I deeply admire activists, but I don't have that drive. I wish I did. It's beautiful, that kind of heart and fire. But Laurie David, holy shit. She deserves to sleep well at night. She started getting concerned about global warming soon after she became a mom, and then when Kerry lost in 2004 she cried for three days and three nights and then woke up hell bent on doing something about it.

Torpor is more my thing. Fear, torpor, paralysis. I think of myself as easily overwhelmed, easily defeated. Defeated before I begin. So, global warming is exactly the sort of thing I am built to run away from. See you later, motherfucker. The Golden Globes are on. I gotta parse some outfits. I need to go crack open Us Weekly and see if I agree about Who Wore it Best: Angie Harmon or Jamie Lynn Sigler. Only 44% say Jamie Lynn Sigler? That's madness! Are those daffodils blooming out there? January, huh? La la la. Mmmmph. Stars are just like us, they scarf their lunches. Now I know.

Laurie David's inner flame must be something else indeed if it managed to sneak a spark down under my flab of inertia, down through the sandy grave that houses my head. I'm not doing much now, but I'm doing more. I'm turning off the light when I leave the room. I'm turning off my computer when I'm not using it. I'm thinking about it. It's part of my thinking now. I hope I turn it up a little, get a little busier. I hope I can continue believing that my teeny weeny actions make a difference. I hope I don't get discouraged and start saying, ah, screw it.

I mean, look at this guy. Look at my son.





Why would I want to contribute to the screwing over of his future? And look at these guys, now.



That mama surely adores that small bear with as much passion as I adore mine. I want to be someone for whom that fact is vivid and important. I don't want to fall asleep about it.

If you're scoffing at all, eye-rolling, like, here she comes with the polar bears and the pictures of her son, I am of two minds with you. One of the minds gets it. One of the minds recognizes the potential...what is it...corniness? saccharine quality?...overuse of that kind of heart-tuggy image, the possible deadness of that. The other mind wants to yell, NO, THINK ABOUT IT! Think about someone you love! Imagine them in jeopardy! Get uncool for a second! Don't make the image come meet you, you come and meet it.

And then I think that this is exactly the sort of internal debate that hamstrings me from being an activist. I don't want to do it wrong and contribute to someone shutting off. So, yeah. This is going to be awkward. Ah, well. Damn. C'est la vie.

Edit: The Trivial Psychic strikes again! I did this post last night, and then found an email from Laurie David in my inbox this morning. The subject heading was "Call to Save the Polar Bears". All right, it's not that amazing. But it's a tiny bit amazing. Mildly notable. I have these trivial psychic moments sometimes. Like once I dreamt about a woman in a purple suit who was thin in the beginning of the dream and then fat at the end of it. The next day I was watching the Tracey Ullman show and she did a sketch wherein she played Elaine of the restaurant Elaine's in NYC. She was skinny in a purple suit at the beginning of the sketch and fat in a purple suit at the end. I AMAZE YOU.

clouds

Sharp change in tone for the blog here for a moment. I don't know how much to write about this, but I need to write something. Please bear with me for a minute. This will be oblique, and it's mostly for my own benefit. This is my small mountaintop that I can shout from*. And if I don't do a little shouting, I'm going to sit here curdling in something. No, thank you.

*Yes, the participle dangled. I'd love to stop caring about that. That rule should go. I am tired of it.

I found out some things today about two family members who are no longer living, who are a couple of generations removed. I'm not going to name names or be specific about what I found out, because relatives may read this and it would be unfair. But what I found out made me sick, it made me angry, and because they're dead and there's no way I can confront them, it made me feel helpless.

What do you do when you suddenly find yourself angry at someone who has died? What do you do?

I can't say what they did, but I have to, so here's how I'm going to do it.

The first person, a male, did this: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The second person, a female, did this: She stood by and watched something, and didn't intervene.

Again, I'm sorry this is so vague. It has to be that way.

I'm glad I learned what I did because it's the truth, and the truth is illuminating. I'm angry that I have this knowledge because it's ugly and I don't want to hold it. I want these people who have died to hold it.

I took Dave to the chiropractor today, and when we were driving home it was late afternoon. The cloud formations were strange and stunning in that sunset light. There was a row of clouds over the freeway that looked like mournful orange faces poking out of the heavens, and I wanted those faces to be there for what I found out today. I wanted those to be the remorseful faces of my ancestors, or the grave faces of disapproving gods.



The clouds in the picture are someone else's. I didn't take a picture of my clouds from today. It's just as well. Those faces wouldn't have translated, just like you can't take a picture of ghosts.

i like everything everybody hates sometimes and vice versa

Soon I will stop talking about awards shows and fashion, but not yet.



First of all, Cameron Diaz looked great. She's the most annoying celebrity in the world, but I thought she looked stunning. And all the magazines and blogs are like, HATED IT! You are wrong, you magazines and blogs. When I saw her, I was like, WHO'S THAT?! And then I was like, oh. It's Cameron Diaz. Mmmph. And then I was like, WELL, SHE LOOKS GREAT.



Rinko Kikuchi. She's Japanese for pete's sake! She has license to dress like an adorable pile of cotton balls if she feels like it. This look is charming and entertaining at the same time.



Au contraire, mes freres. Drew Barrymore's dress didn't fit right and her tan was odd. She followed Angelina Jolie's example and rubbed newsprint on her face to make it look muted and bizarre.



See? Because that's what Angelina Jolie did. Right after Sarah Jessica Parker did her hair.



Vanessa Williams. Can it, hosers. I feel that she pulled this shit off. I like her hair, too. Oh, I'll say it.



Other than her hair, I like what J. Lo has going on here. I didn't say I love it. But I don't hate it. Because I'm in the middle, liking it. It must be weird to be Jennifer Lopez these days. On the Mrs. Marc Antony down low and all that. Give her a break. I don't know why.



Eva Longoria, NOPE. Slender puffy torso awkwardness on a lame lady. You are a suckball and you dress like a suckball, suckball.



The Fashion Police tried to arrest Kyra Sedgewick. I intervened, and threw their crack pipes to the ground. Kevin Bacon and their daughter Sosie are like, who is this weird lady rushing to our family's defense? It's me, you guys. It's Tina. I'm Tina.



Some people thought Reese Witherspoon's dress was too yellow or something. It was yellow, all right. Yellow like a fox!



And Filliam H. Muffman pulled it out this year, I thought! Good recovery! What a groovy dress. But I don't think anybody hated it. Or, probably someone did but I have not been apprised.

********

There are two new blogs on the blogroll: Le Petit Hiboux and Dalai Mama. Do enjoy.

what i always forget about awards shows

They're actually really boring. But I'm like a goldfish so I'll have forgotten this by the Oscars and I'll be just as psyched for next year's Golden Globes.

Oh, well.

Also, Dup's Blog and La Ketch are having a baby!! And my postpartum doula has just announced that she's pregnant with twins. More cute babies! Hurray! I LOVE BABIES!

nobody call me between 6 & 11 pm

I will be staring at the television so hard that my eyeballs will push out the lenses of my glasses.

I LOVE THE GOLDEN GLOBES.

Oh, Christ, Christ on a red carpet they make me happy. See, I'm a sucker for celebrities, I love fashion...and also I think perhaps I am starved for recognition. These things conspire to completely crackify awards shows for me. (Not all of them. The Grammys can suck it because who is everybody and who cares? The Emmys can likewise suck it. The Tonys, too. Snooze alarm! Wha'? Huh? Oh, the Tonys. Smack. Zzz.)

No, I'm talking about the Golden Globes and the Oscars. And the Golden Globes are great because they've got such a quorum of famous people. They're rockin' it movie-style AND tv-style. Plus all the celebrities are drunk and wander around from table to table schmoozing. (I far prefer watching people schmooze, even fleetingly from a great distance, to schmoozing myself which I find a holy terror. I wish I could watch a whole show of actors schmoozing, skillfully and unskillfully. I wouln't be able to take my eyes off of it. It fascinates me because I find it so difficult.)

Then there are the women's outfits. Sorry, fellas, but I have never seen a tuxedo so interesting and well-executed that it caused me to give a shit. The ladies have all the plumage. It's our revenge on the bird kingdom. Naturally, since I'm an actor - it doesn't matter that I don't have a movie career...or even really a stage career...Q. Uh, what kind of actor are you, exactly? A. Shut it. - I examine all of the outfits and pick the ones I will emulate when my award-winning movie career materializes out of thin, thin air. (As the years go by, I start keeping an eye more to your Helen Mirrens, your Brenda Blethynses, as I'm increasingly one of those long-sleeve wearing older actresses in my fantasy - I'm keeping it real, see?)

Here are some Golden Globe looks of yore which I've admired:



This is one of my favorite things Nicole Kiman has ever worn. The color is so rich and the look isn't stiff, which is a sartorial pet peeve of mine. I love a little artistic touch like the feather there.



Sarah Jessica Parker generally looks like her hair is giving her a migraine, and she usually looks wicked stiff, but I love the sparkly gray juxtaposed with her teal shoes and eye makeup. I'll give you this one, ma'am.



Shiva Rose McDermott, lose the watch-fobbish string thing, and we are in business.



Gwyneth Paltrow got flack for this look, but I thought it was very charming for her pregnant figure. Pregnant ladies doing sleek minimalism are barking up the wrong tree.



Debra Messing is also white and fluffy and pretty here.



Cate Blanchett has to work hard not to rock it. If she wanted to not rock it here, she failed.



Jennifer Aniston, you know thyself. Kudos.



Kate Hudson, you are a loose cannon, mama. But this made you look like a big sexy glass of champagne. And I don't even like you.



This is an Oscar dress but I don't care. It's my favorite ever. Julianne Moore looks perfect.



Now, listen. I would rather see this train wreck...I would a million times rather see this or Bjork's WHATTHEFUCK swan dress than...



...this boring, flat, "classy" bit of business from Talbot's or Staples or wherever she got this piece of plain white paper. A bad day for Filliam H. Muffman, Inc.

There. I've said it. You have an hour and a half to reach me by phone, and then I'm like Dick Cheney, twenty thousand leagues under the sea in my contact-proof bunker.

P.S. It stings me that I've barely seen any of the nominated movies/performances. I must not glare at the baby this evening. I must not glare at the baby this evening. I must not glare at the baby this evening.

P.P.S Finn issued this statement two mornings ago, "Boo qua qua qua."

P.P.P.S. I can't glare at the baby. I just tried.

And look! New theme again. The holiday theme had to make like a leaf and beat it. Also, I revamped the favorite posts section, the erstwhile Gallivanting Monkey Memory Lane. I put those favorites together like four months after I started blogging, and then left it like that for lo these many moons. Clicking over there was like buying The Greatest Hits of the 70's and finding out it only had Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head on it. Now it's Ye Olde Gallivanting Monkey Poste Shoppe and it has far more of yesterday's hits of today. Belly up to the sidebar if you are on a drunken archival rampage, but don't want to search around willy-nilly.

It's a beautiful snow we have in Seattle right now. Too bad it started falling THE MINUTE DAVE'S MOM LEFT TOWN TO GO BACK TO AUSTRALIA! She's sixty years old and she's never seen snow falling, never been near anything more than the tiniest powdered-sugar dusting of snow. The snow was supposed to fall on Tuesday night, weather wieners. Not Wednesday night.

Also, in case anybody is wondering if my husband and baby are still hot*:



Finally, some friends of mine who have blogs need to make some things public on their blogs so I can officially freak out over here. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

*Nobody be a smartass and say, "Well...are they?"

we hear that casino royale is great

Last night was our big night. Date night. Dave and I have managed to go out together... this was the fourth time since the baby was born. The second time alone. (The first time was on our anniversary. We ran out for an hour to have the fastest dinner ever at The Santa Fe Cafe. Finn was with my mom. She is not the sturdiest babysitter in history.) Dave's mom is in town and it was her big wish that the two of us go out for a romantic evening. Sweet Larraine!

We were PSYCHED. We knew exactly what we were going to do. Casino Royale, motherfuckers! We haven't seen ONE movie together since the baby was born. Casino Royale and then a nice dinner! Maybe a moment or two at a bookstore! Ai carramba. Beautiful.

4:00 pm - The movie's at 4:40. We should leave the house now.
4:20 pm - We leave the house.
4:30 pm - Adrift in a sea of tail lights. That's okay, though. Commercials! Previews! We'll make it.
4:38 pm - Downtown is right there. We can see it. But we cannot reach it. How late are we okay with being to this movie?
4:45 pm - Downtown is right there. We can see it.
4:48 pm - We cannot reach it. But it's playing somewhere else! Once we are off this freeway, we can find out where.
5:00 pm - You know what? It's playing in Ballard. Let's just drive there!
5:10 pm - Almost an hour into the date. Mmm. Sitting in traffic = the date.
5:12 pm - We're in Ballard. It started at 3:30. The next one is not for more than an hour. Our baby will not make it if we begin watching a long movie at 6:45.
5:15 pm - Get a paper! Maybe another movie!
5:15 pm - It's playing at the Big Picture at 5:30! Burn rubber, hosers!
5:17 pm - It's playing at the Big Picture at 5:30 on Friday. Today is Thursday. Thursday it just plays at 8:00.
5:18 pm - !!#@($#
5:19 pm - Okay. We'll get dinner. We'll go and get dinner at Il Fornaio and go to the bookstore. It's okay. It's okay.
5:20 pm - We're in Fremont. I am tired of driving. I am tired. I make a lazy turn and hit a curb. I hit it hard. But blah blah. Whatever.
5:30 pm - We're still in Fremont. Traffic! I am bored! Dave! Feel me up at this traffic light! We're on a DATE fer chrissakes.
5:35 pm - It's loud driving over the Fremont bridge, right? This bridge is louder than normal. It's weird and shaky. This is some weird work they're doing on the bridge.
5:37 pm - Son. Of. A. Bitch. The tire is flat. FLAT.
5:40 pm - Pull over on Dexter. Get spare tire out. Is the idea. How do we get it out of the thing? The thing is locked!
5:42-6:00 - Read Toyota manual page by page while Dave yanks at the thing to get the tire out.
6:01 pm - "Dave? It says loosen the nut. Then loosen the bolt."
6:20 pm - OH MY GOD IT'S COLD. Didn't wear a coat on the date, as I thought we'd be getting out in a parking garage. Dave changes the tire while I spaz out for warmth on the sidewalk. Hour Two of our fuckin' sweet date passes, Hour Three commences.
6:30 pm - We're on the road again. The road to Pacific Place, Il Fornaio and dinner. We'll be there in five minutes.
6:40 pm - We have been stuck at the same green light for two cycles. Would you like to get screamed at? Travel back in time to this moment and meet me at the white car at the stoplight at 7th and Olive. Look at me funny. Be the straw to my camel's back.
6:45 pm - We're at Pacific Place. Let's go into Il Fornaio via the upstairs entry. I don't want to be outside and get cold again. Wait. Let's just eat upstairs for a change! It's fancier, but we're skipping the movie.
6:47 pm - "Would you two be interested in sitting at our table of honor?" "-Wha?" "Our table of honor. We pick people randomly each night to sit at a special table and the chef sends out some special extras and the service is particularly attentive."
6:48 pm - Dave and I jab each other in disbelief as we are led to the Table of Honor.
6:49 pm - The actual date begins. It is weird and funny and GREAT. Being at the Table of Honor is a little bit like being a guest judge on Iron Chef. Look at this surprise crab cake on its lobster and balsamic reduction! Zabaglione is the dessert of honor! (They really called it the dessert of honor.) In other news, apparently I can drink a glass of wine and not be immediately under the table like I thought. I will be seeing you around campus, Pinot Noir. Dave and I imagine ourselves visiting all the regular tables and introducing ourselves, "Hi, we're Dave and Tina...from the table of honor...we had some down time in between amuse-bouches and we thought we should say hello...oh, you just have one kind of bread? Well, you know what? I bet you're still going to have a great time. Sorry if I seem disoriented. I'm just so used to looking at our red tablecloth. Your tablecloth is so blindingly white. The tablecloth at the table of honor is red. Oops. Here come some olives of honor. We have to run."
8:45 pm - We dash into the bookstore. I buy a book about unlocking the secrets to becoming impossibly French. This is a favorite genre of mine.
9:10 pm - We drive home slowly on our spare tire.

Finn FREAKED OUT while we were gone. Oh, date night. We will see Casino Royale one at a time, on separate days, some time in the future.

pricelessnesses of my mother: volume 37, entry 8

When my mother-in-law arrived from Australia for Christmas, we all celebrated with Chinese food and some German Riesling*. My mom hadn't had a drink of any sort in a long, long time. She got a little sauced and ate her fortune cookie whole, fortune and all. She tries to deny this. She insists that there was no fortune in the cookie. But I saw her at the sink struggling with that cookie in her mouth. She ate that fortune.

*That reminds me of a joke I heard on the Dick Cavett Show once. What do you get an hour after you eat Chinese/German food? Hungry for power. My favorite part of that joke is that I got it from Dick Cavett.